Before the Dawn: A Story of the Fall of Richmond

by Joseph A. Altsheler

Lonely and abstracted, Prescott wandered about the city that evening, and when the hour seemed suitable, bending his head to the northern blast, he turned willing steps once more to the little house in the cross street, wondering meanwhile what its two inmates were doing and how they fared.

As he went along and heard the wind moaning among the houses he had the feeling that he was watched. He looked ahead and saw nothing; he looked back and saw nothing; then he told himself it was only the wind rattling among loose boards, but his fancy refused to credit his own words. This feeling that he was watched, spied upon, had been with him several days, but he did not realize it fully until the present moment, when he was again upon a delicate errand, one perhaps involving a bit of unfaithfulness to the cause for which he fought. He, the bold Captain, the veteran of thirty battles, shook slightly and then told himself courageously that it was not a nervous chill, but the cold. Yet he looked around fearfully and wished to hear other footsteps, to see other faces and to feel that he was not alone on such a cold and dark night—alone save for the unknown who watched him. At the thought he looked about again, but there was nothing, not even the faintest echo of a footfall.

The chill, the feeling of oppression passed for the time and he hastened to the side street and the little house. It was too dark for him to tell whether any wisp of smoke rose from the chimney, and no light shone from the window. He opened the little gate and passed into the little yard where the snow seemed to be yet unbroken. Then he slipped two of the beautiful gold double eagles under the door and almost ran away, the feeling that he was watched returning to him and hanging on his back like crime on the mind of the guilty.

Prescott's early ancestors had been great borderers, renowned Indian fighters and adepts in the ways of the forest, when the red men, silent and tenacious, followed upon their tracks for days and it was necessary to practise every art to throw off the pursuers, unseen but known to be there. Unconsciously a thin strain of heredity now came into play, and he began to wind about the city before going home, turning suddenly from one street into another, and gliding swiftly now and then in the darkest shadow, making it difficult for pursuer, if pursuer he had, to follow him.

He did not reach home until nearly two hours after he had left the cottage, and then his fingers and ears were blue and almost stiff with cold.

He wandered into the streets again the next morning, and ere long saw a slender figure ahead of him walking with decision and purpose. Despite the distance and the vagueness of her form he knew that it was Miss Grayson, and he followed more briskly, drawn by curiosity and a resolution to gratify it.

She went to one of the markets and began to barter for food, driving a sharp bargain and taking her time. Prescott loitered near and at last came very close. There were several others standing about, but if she noticed and recognized the Captain she gave no sign, going on imperturbably with her bargaining.

Prescott thought once or twice of speaking to her, but he concluded that it was better to wait, letting her make the advances if she would. He was glad of his decision a few minutes later, when he saw a new figure approaching.

The new arrival was Mr. Sefton, a fur-lined cloak drawn high around his neck and his face as usual bland and smiling. He nodded to Prescott and then looked at Miss Grayson, but for the moment said nothing, standing by as if he preferred to wait for whatever he had in mind.

Miss Grayson finished her purchases, and drawing her purse took forth the money for payment. A yellow gleam caught Prescott's eye and he recognized one of his double eagles. The knowledge sent a thrill through him, but he still stood in silence, glancing casually about him and waiting for one of the others to speak first.